


Trapped

by Esteliel



Category: Les Misérables (TV 2018)
Genre: Anal Sex, Dry Orgasm, Gags, Hand Jobs, Intercrural Sex, M/M, Overstimulation, Restraints, Sex Pollen, trapped together
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-21
Updated: 2019-04-21
Packaged: 2020-01-12 04:26:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,907
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18438998
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Esteliel/pseuds/Esteliel
Summary: Javert peered into his eyes, using his thumb to pull up his lid, then slid his hand down to untie Rivette’s cravat. When Javert’s fingers touched the bare skin of his throat, Rivette cried out. Javert frowned at him, still keeping his fingers on where Rivette’s pulse was racing so fast that he thought he’d lose consciousness any moment now.“You’ll have to be silent,” Javert said. “This is a whorehouse, but still. If you make a racket, you’ll lead them right to us.”





	Trapped

**Author's Note:**

  * For [iberiandoctor (jehane)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jehane/gifts).



Rivette knew he should have seen it coming.

The thief they’d been chasing was no Lacenaire, no member of Patron-Minette—wasn’t even the so far nameless burglar who’d robbed a string of wealthy widows in the Marais. The man was a nobody, unskilled, whom Rivette should have taken down on his own without any problems.

Which made it even more inexcusable that here he was, trapped in a garret above a whorehouse, of all places, whose proprietress, they were now certain, was in league with the group of ruffians who’d led them on a merry chase.

“Sorry, sir,” Rivette said for what had to be the fifth time since they’d ended breathlessly in here, barring the door behind them.

Javert gave him a look that said all too clearly that he hadn’t expected better from Rivette anyway. Trust him to always find new ways to disappoint his chief.

“We’ll have a talk about this once we’re back.”

The deep crease on Javert’s brow made it only too obvious that this talk would consist of a long list of Rivette’s failings, starting with his failure to realize that they weren’t following one mediocre thief, but an entire gang, and ending with the embarrassing fact that instead of escaping the gang of ruffians in this whorehouse, they’d walked straight into a trap.

They’d been chased through rooms filled with naked people, been bombarded by surprised women with all sorts of thing—Rivette still stank of roses, thanks to a bottle of perfume that had burst directly next to his head, soaking him with a cloyingly sweet scent—and at last had to escape via the roof, only to find out at the last moment that there was a watch of rough-looking men in the streets below. Fortunately, they’d found a single open window before they could be spied from below. It had led them into a miserable, damp garret, which looked as if it hadn’t been let in a while. All they found within was a straw-seated chair, a broken mirror, and a dust-covered bed that leaned against the wall.

“I’m sure they’ll give up in an hour or two.” Rivette gazed longingly at the window. “That sort doesn’t linger, not when they don’t get paid for it.”

“Shut up,” Javert said quietly, so that Rivette felt himself flush with mortification. “You’ll lead them right to us.”

Uneasily, Rivette shifted his shoulders. He felt vaguely sick—the woman’s perfume, he assumed, which seemed to hover around him, a cloying miasma that left him deeply uncomfortable. Maybe, if he hung his uniform by the window…

“What the hell do you think you’re doing,” Javert said sharply, as soon as Rivette had opened the first button.

Rivette froze. “Sorry, sir. Just trying to get rid of the smell…”

“Just stop fidgeting. And be silent. You’ve done enough damage already.”

“Yes, sir.” Morosely, Rivette hung his head, trying to resist the urge to move his weight from foot to foot. He clenched his hands behind his back, his fingernails digging into his palms to stop himself from disobeying.

For some reason, not even Javert’s disappointment could put an end to the nervous energy that filled him—and that although the chief had been sharper with him already than he usually was.

Even the thought of being dressed down in Javert’s office later today didn’t put a stop to Rivette’s unease. His skin was tingling, his chest strangely tight, and for a moment he thought that if he could just open the window and thrust out his head, allow the freezing air to cool his brow, he’d be alright.

It took all the strength he had to keep from lunging towards the window. He could feel droplets of sweat making their way down his back, his damp shirt clinging to him. Just an hour or two, he told himself, and that beneath the glowering eyes of his boss. Surely he could make it that long. No matter how disappointing a subordinate he was, he’d never before had a problem staying still. Sometimes when watching a suspect, he’d remain hidden for hours.

But now, after a mere ten minutes in this garret, it felt as if ants were crawling all over his body. His skin had flushed with heat as though he’d woken up in the middle of the night with a fever.

Maybe that was it, he thought weakly. He’d fallen sick, on top of this spectacularly botched case. Oh, the chief would have things to say about that if it turned out that a little cold had ruined several days’ work in stalking their suspect…

A new wave of heat rushed through Rivette. His skin felt as if it was burning. He clenched his teeth, swaying on his feet as he dug his fingers deeper into his own skin to keep from ripping off his clothes. It hurt to feel the fabric move against his skin, the soft cotton of his shirt, comfortable from long wear, suddenly as scratchy as horsehair.

“What the hell is wrong with you? Are you drunk? Pull yourself together, man,” Javert snapped. He’d appeared in front of him so suddenly that Rivette had to fight the urge to reach out and grasp Javert’s arm to keep himself upright.

“Sorry, sir,” he forced out, panting for breath. When Javert grabbed hold of his arm instead, a desperate moan broke free from Rivette’s throat. He closed his eyes, ashamed. “I think I’m sick, sir.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” Javert tightened his grip on Rivette’s arm until he thought he could feel the heat of Javert’s fingers even through the thick fabric of his uniform. “This isn’t the time…”

His voice trailed off. When Rivette forced himself to open his eyes, he saw that Javert was very close. He’d leaned in until their cheeks nearly touched, then breathed in deeply.

Almost immediately, Javert reared back, his face twisting in disgust. “What the hell have you done now, Rivette?”

“Sorry, sir,” Rivette said desperately. “One of the whores, she must have thrown her perfume at me—it’s all over me. If you’ll just let me open the window again, I’ll air my uniform—”

“Perfume?” Javert laughed, although he still looked tense. “That’s no perfume. And you aren’t sick.”

“Really, sir, with all respect,” Rivette said unhappily, the room starting to sway around him, “I think I have a fever…”

“Oh yes, I bet you have. Come on then, let’s get this off you. It’s too late for you by the looks of it, but I don’t want you rubbing off on me by accident. You’ve already done enough damage today.”

Rivette blinked tiredly. Javert’s words didn’t quite make sense, although something about them had sent a new wave of agonizing heat through his body until it felt as if he’d burn alive if he didn’t rub himself against Javert’s elegant frame…

Panting, he ripped himself away from Javert a heartbeat later, stumbling two steps backwards as he stared at him in horrified shock while his heartbeat pulsed insidiously between his legs.

“What’s going on here?”

“They drugged you. Really, Rivette, you never heard of it? It wasn’t perfume they threw at you. A few drops and an unwilling girl will gladly work all night. A few more drops in wine, and some rich banker will stay all night with the ugliest whore, staggering out at last thinking that he’d had the best night of his life. And you—you got drenched in a bottle of the stuff. So no, I don’t want you getting any of it on me.”

Rivette’s mind was reeling. Javert’s words made a terrible sense—although it was becoming hard to think, the fever taking over his brain.

No, not a fever, he thought dimly. A drug… Some twisted sort of love potion.

_Lust_ potion, more precisely. It wasn’t as if he’d needed a love potion in the first place, not when trapped in this garret with Javert—a man whom it was impossible not to admire.

And, truth be told, for years now his admiration had been not only for the stern and efficient way with which Javert ran the Prefecture’s offices, but for the way he effortlessly took control of any room, towering over hardened criminals despite his slighter stature by sheer force of will. And then, of course, there was the fact that not once had Javert appeared in the Rue de Jérusalem without a neatly knotted cravat in fashionable folds around his throat, better dressed in linen than the Prefect himself in silk.

Even now, after the long chase, Javert look just as impressive as he did behind his desk at the Prefecture. Helplessly, Rivette felt himself stumbling forward, his hand rising for the line of Javert’s perfectly groomed beard that framed his jaw…

A moment before it was too late, Rivette remembered just where he was and what was going on. This was no dream that came in the dark hours of the night, leaving him with soiled sheets like a man half his age. This was his superior in front of him, a man whom Rivette had failed to impress for years, even though he had tried so hard to be a man Javert could rely upon—because God knew that any other of Javert’s agents would have managed to mess this up even worse.

If that was even possible, given their current predicament…

“What are we going to do with you, Rivette?”

Javert took a step towards him, and Rivette, panicking at the way his arousal was chafing against the fabric of his trousers, stumbled backwards.

A moment later, his back hit the wall. Javert kept approaching, looking as calm and composed as if he were interrogating a witness in his office.

“Sir, please,” Rivette said desperately. “Let me go downstairs—maybe, if I pay, one of the women will hide me, or else—”

“Nonsense,” Javert said, coming even closer, until Rivette had to squeeze his eyes shut.

He dug his nails into his palms again as he desperately fought against the fever that whispered that he only had to throw himself at Javert, promising that this torment would be over if he could just touch, that he would do anything if only Javert would—

A moment later, he felt Javert’s fingers carefully unbutton his coat.

“Don’t move,” Javert said.

Curiously, the instinctive obedience to his chief’s voice proved even more powerful than the scalding heat raging inside Rivette. Trembling, he forced himself to remain motionless despite the way his arousal kept throbbing—a pain worse than the memory of the first stab wound he’d received in his job.

“Good. Now take it off.”

Still trembling, Rivette obeyed, letting his stained jacket slip to the floor. Javert pushed it away with his boot.

A moment later, there was a sudden, metallic clink and the weight of iron around Rivette’s wrist. Within a heartbeat, he found himself turned around and pushed against the wall, the cuffs closing around his other wrist as well. Then Javert stepped back, and Rivette wanted to cry in frustration. Instead, he forced himself to turn back around, panting for breath, his entire body aching as if his skin had been scalded by the sun.

“Thank you, sir.”

Javert tilted his head at him. “What are you thanking me for?”

Rivette swallowed the moan that seemed stuck in his throat, barely able to tear his eyes away from the tempting sliver of skin visible above Javert’s cravat. What would it feel like to press his lips to that smooth skin, to taste the salt of his sweat, to feel the throb of his pulse?

“Just leave me like this, sir. Or—or chain me in that corner. Then I won’t bother you.”

Javert made a thoughtful sound. “Abandon you, to suffer on your own? I don’t think so.”

Another shudder ran through Rivette’s body when Javert stepped closer again. Then Javert’s hand came up to cup his face, and Rivette nearly flung himself into his arms as his entire body trembled with a need that sliced him open like a bayonet, exposing all of his faults to Javert’s merciless gaze.

Javert peered into his eyes, using his thumb to pull up his lid, then slid his hand down to untie Rivette’s cravat. When Javert’s fingers touched the bare skin of his throat, Rivette cried out. Javert frowned at him, still keeping his fingers on where Rivette’s pulse was racing so fast that he thought he’d lose consciousness any moment now.

“You’ll have to be silent,” Javert said. “This is a whorehouse, but still. If you make a racket, you’ll lead them right to us.”

Rivette squeezed his eyes shut, panting helplessly. “Chain me and gag me, sir,” he forced out. “Just wait this out; it’ll pass…”

Javert made an amused sound. “An entire bottle of it? I doubt it.”

“I don’t want to be a burden, sir… I know I messed up today.”

“You did, and we’ll have words about that. Later,” Javert said firmly. “But I’m not going to sit here and watch you suffer. Unless, of course, the thought of me is so distasteful to you that you’d rather—”

“Never, sir,” Rivette cried out, his heart pounding as if it wanted to escape from his breast.

“You’re certain?” Javert was unsmiling, but surely that was a jest.

“Sir, you’re the most admirable man I know, the most—”

Javert huffed a laugh against his face. “All right, Rivette, no need to flatter me.”

He was smiling now, Rivette realized dimly. His cheeks dimpled. Rivette had never seen that before.

Had Javert wanted to be flattered, or was it simply amusement at the fact that Rivette must have been much worse at hiding the extent of his admiration than he’d thought?

“If you want me to resign after today, sir, I will understand,” Rivette said, even though merely speaking these words made his chest ache. “I will—”

“Shut up, Rivette,” Javert said pleasantly, and then pulled him by his arm over to the dusty bed.

With his arms still shackled behind his head, Rivette collapsed in an undignified heap on the bed. Javert followed close behind, assisting him so that he ended propped up against the wall.

Javert was still smiling slightly. Rivette couldn’t look away from the sight, aching to reach out and touch the rough hair of Javert’s beard, wondering how it would feel like against his skin.

But he couldn’t. His arms were still tied behind his back, which was perhaps for the best. His chief had generously offered to assist him in this misery entirely of Rivette’s own making; to burden Javert with the addition of the truth of his feelings would be unbearable.

“How are you feeling?” Javert asked, and then his hand went straight to the fastening of Rivette’s trouser flap.

Rivette was too shocked to answer, although his body arched into Javert’s touch with obvious approval. Mortified, Rivette could barely keep his eyes on Javert’s hands; his body, on the other hand, had no such compunction, his length straining eagerly towards Javert as soon as it was freed.

“Well, well,” Javert murmured, sounding slightly amused. “And how long have you been hiding _that_ away?”

“Sir,” Rivette gasped, so embarrassed that he wished he could just sink into the ground.

Then Javert’s fingers closed around him, and all thought fled from his mind. The sensation was electric, the touch burning through him so that he had to dig his teeth into his bottom lip to keep from crying out.

“Nothing to be ashamed of, Rivette.” Javert definitely sounded amused now. “On the contrary.”

Rivette bit back a whimper of mortification at the thought that his chief of all people was commenting on the size of his cock.

“Sir, please…”

“No need to beg.”

When Rivette at last dared to meet Javert’s eyes once more, he saw that there was no anger in him, although he still looked faintly amused. It was more than Rivette deserved, perhaps, for having brought them into this situation.

“Let’s get this over with, hm?” Javert touched him with sure, firm strokes.

The first already nearly undid him. Rivette felt himself sliding down the wall until he rested half sprawled across the dusty bed, his hips rising desperately into Javert’s touch. Calm and collected, not a single fold of his cravat out of place, Javert kept stroking him with as much detachment as if he were idly pleasuring himself after a long day of work.

The thought of Javert stretched out on his own bed, naked perhaps but for a thin, white nightshirt rucked up around his hips, forced an overwhelmed sound from his throat that he desperately tried to stifle. Even so, the image wouldn’t leave, tormenting him with thoughts of running his own hands reverently over the expanse of Javert’s chest, pressing his lips to the hollow between his collarbones, tracing along his ribcage, breathing in his scent while he touched for as long as Javert would allow…

His climax hit him without warning so that he barely had time to muffle his cry in the threadbare blanket before he felt his release spill over Javert’s knuckles. Javert kept lightly stroking him through it until Rivette was trembling, his body so sensitive now that even the sensation of Javert’s breath against his skin was agony.

There was barely time for the realization that even his release hadn’t dimmed the fire in him before Javert pushed his trousers further down his hip with his free hand.

“Good. This’ll make it easier,” Javert said. Then his hand was between Rivette’s thighs, slick with his own spend.

A heartbeat later, Javert’s fingers found his opening. Rivette arched with a mangled, desperate cry when Javert rubbed his slick fingers all over him before pushing in.

He’d never felt anything like it. The touch seemed to set his nerves afire from within, his entire body shuddering like a ship beset by a storm. He could barely cling to sanity enough to keep his eyes open, and yet he fought to hold on, to keep watching. Something within Rivette needed to make certain that this wasn’t just a dream but that it was indeed his chief who was bending over him, touching him, unraveling all the years of careful control over Rivette’s helpless admiration of a man he knew he’d never measure up to.

“You think this’ll be enough, Rivette?” Javert still sounded vaguely amused as he looked down at him.

No, not amused—Javert almost sounded fond. Could it be that despite all of Rivette’s latest failings, despite even the current mess he’d gotten them into, his chief might feel fondness for him after all?

Rivette gasped for air, twisting on the bed, his skin burning with a need worse than any fever.

“Mmm. Let’s give it a try.”

Javert still sounded remarkably clearheaded, and Rivette voiced a prayer of gratitude for the fact that Javert hadn’t been affected. He’d never forgive himself if he’d done something to undo Javert’s famed iron control. Worse—he did not think that Javert would have forgiven him for that.

Then Javert drew back, his fingers slipping from his body, and Rivette groaned in dismay.

Javert didn’t move far. Instead, he began stripping as well, carefully folding his clothes and setting them aside. Despite the cuffs, Rivette was writhing in earnest now, desperate for any sort of touch—something, anything, that would quench the fire inside him that was burning him alive.

By the time Javert returned to his side there were tears in Rivette’s eyes, his cock rigid and aching as though he’d not already found release. He could barely hear Javert’s voice over the roar of his pulse, but Javert’s hands against his bare thighs made the meaning of them clear enough.

Willingly, Rivette let his thighs spread. When Javert settled in between them, he moaned again, the slide of Javert’s bare skin against his own enough to make his cock jerk against his stomach.

“Sensitive, hm?” Javert leaned over him. “Remember. Try to stay quiet.”

“Is... is that an order, sir?” Rivette gasped, barely able to think when Javert’s cock brushed his thigh, promisingly hot and rigid.

“That’s an order, Rivette.” Javert huffed another amused laugh. “Try to, at least. Or would you rather have me gag you?”

Rivette whimpered when Javert’s cock slid along his crease. “I think... I think that might be better, sir,” he said bravely. “I don’t think I can...”

“They hit you bad, didn’t they.”

Rivette swallowed the truth just in time—that it had to be Javert, surely, who was driving him into this madness.

Fortunately, Javert was distracted. He reached out to where he’d put his clothes, then grabbed hold of his own cravat—fine, expensive linen in a gentle green reminiscent of the sea.

Instinctively, Rivette shook his head—Javert surely couldn’t think to waste something like that on him—but there was no more opportunity for protest.

Javert wadded up the linen and pushed it into Rivette’s mouth with surprising gentleness, then used the remaining length to tie it in place, winding it around his head.

“There. Now you can make as much noise as you need to.”

Breathing heavily, Rivette let his head fall back onto the bed, staring up at his chief. His skin was still burning, worse than before, the slide of Javert’s smooth flanks against his spread thighs so maddening that his eyes had begun to burn with the threat of tears.

“Relax,” Javert commanded. “That’ll make it easier.”

A moment later, he moved against him, and Rivette found himself crying out again when Javert’s cock found his hole and began to sink in.

The penetration burned—but the sensation of Javert within him burned even hotter. It felt as if every nerve within his body was on fire. He sobbed into his gag when Javert pulled back, then smoothly thrust back inside. Again and again Javert filled him, the sensation so sharp and overwhelming that Rivette felt as if sanity was slipping away from his grasp. All that remained was the relentless motion that spread him open and laid claim to him, his body trembling beneath Javert, slick with sweat, needing something that seemed just barely out of grasp.

The metal chafed against Rivette’s wrists, unyielding no matter how much he writhed. Even so he couldn’t help but fight against the shackles, aching to dig his nails into Javert’s skin to drive him harder, deeper.

Rivette was barely able to breathe, the fever burning so brightly that every beat of his heart seemed to tear open a wound within his chest. Then Javert drove into him again, hard and deep, and for a moment Rivette thought that he had blacked out—he couldn’t breathe, couldn’t hear, couldn’t even see, the world lost to a haze of fiery red as his body convulsed.

It might have been seconds later or many minutes when sanity returned.

Javert was still moving within him. Already, Rivette could feel the embers of the sinister need within him flare again, even though his stomach was wet with his own spend. His cock was still hard as well, chafing against his stomach with each of Javert’s slow thrusts. For a moment, terror overwhelmed Rivette—what if this was how it would always be from now on? What if he’d never be free of this hunger again? Surely he couldn’t keep going like this indefinitely. It felt as if his last climax had nearly killed him.

“How are you feeling, Rivette? Any better?” Javert asked, stopping for a moment.

He, too, was not unaffected, Rivette now saw. Javert’s skin gleamed with sweat, and as Rivette watched, a glistening droplet slid down Javert’s forehead. The sight caused a new wave of heat to erupt within Rivette that had him struggling mindlessly against the shackles as he imagined pressing his lips to that gleaming drop.

“Ah, well.” Javert smiled faintly. “That was to be expected. Let’s see if we can drive it out. I give it another hour or two.”

“I’ll die,” Rivette groaned around the cravat in his mouth, panting for breath.

“That good?” Javert laughed.

Rivette barely had time to savor this unexpected, rare moment of his chief’s humor shining through before Javert slid into him again. This time, the sensation of Javert within him crossed the threshold to pain, the friction of each thrust making him whimper into his gag as his exhausted, spent body was ravaged by sharp ecstasy.

Javert didn’t let up. If anything, it seemed as if Javert’s iron control was slipping at last, and Rivette clung to every groan that escaped Javert, every drop of sweat that dripped upon his own body with desperate relief. He wasn’t alone in this. His chief was here to make everything all right. And even Javert, who’d risen through the ranks of the Prefecture with unprecedented speed, couldn’t help but be affected by this.

Perhaps this wasn’t the end. Perhaps there’d even be a way to go on after this…

And then Javert shuddered, his head dropping forward as he groaned. His hips slapped against Rivette’s damp body, again and again, and even as Rivette felt the heat of Javert’s release within himself, his own body arched, his hard cock jerking painfully against his stomach in an agonizing orgasm.

This time, he must have blacked out.

When Rivette came to again, the gag was no longer in his mouth. Javert was resting next to him. He seemed to have used the opportunity to undress both of them, and Rivette’s hands were now shackled to the headboard so that he could rest more easily.

One of Javert’s arms was slung easily across Rivette’s body, and Javert had covered them with the old, threadbare blanket that must have gathered dust in here for years.

“All right, Rivette?” Javert asked.

Rivette swallowed, his throat parched. He nodded—then realized to his utter mortification that he wasn’t all right. Even after a release so excruciating that he’d passed out from it, he was still hard—and had apparently pressed himself against Javert’s thigh in his sleep.

“Sorry, sir,” he croaked unhappily.

“I’d be flattered,” Javert said, “if I didn’t know that you’d had an entire bottle of that poison they use here.”

Rivette’s heart gave a confused jolt. Would Javert truly have been flattered by Rivette’s very much unchaste admiration, had they not been trapped during their escape?

He swallowed, firmly steering his thoughts away from such treacherous ground.

“I think I can deal now,” he said. “Really. It’s manageable now.”

Javert’s lips quirked. “I don’t think so. At least another hour, I should think.”

“I would die, sir,” Rivette said, heartfelt—then realized that he’d gone from half-soft to mostly hard again, his prick aching as if he’d rubbed it against sandpaper.

“Don’t worry, Rivette. You’ll get through this.”

“How do you know so much about it, sir?” Rivette asked rebelliously, moments before another groan escaped his throat when Javert’s fingers sought him out beneath the blanket.

“There isn’t even anything you’ve left to give,” Javert murmured, his thumb tracing thoughtfully across Rivette’s aching testes. “And do you think you’re the first one to get himself drugged? Masson ended up wasting an entire night in a brothel when he was supposed to trail a forger known to be friendly with the proprietress. A couple of drops in his wine, and he was going at it all night, without a thought to the forger who packed up shop and was gone by the next morning. I put an end to that establishment after that. And I was curious, so I asked some questions. One of the hussies decided to spill her secrets, rather than spend a few months in jail. Thought the knowledge would come in useful sooner or later—though I have to admit, you were the last on my mind.”

Rivette felt his face burning. He knew that he’d never be able to measure up to his chief—but to have fallen to the level of Masson, who’d famously managed to avoid even a single promotion during the last seven years…

“Come on then,” Javert said, tightening his fingers around Rivette once more. “I’ll help you. No need for you to suffer. It’s the only way to get it over with quickly.”

“You don’t have to, sir,” Rivette protested again, even as his hips already greedily pushed forward. The tight sheath of Javert’s fingers wrung a moan from him, and Javert chuckled.

“No, I think I do.”

Even now, when every single nerve in his body felt raw, Javert’s touch felt unbearably good. His fingers twisting against the metal headboard, Rivette pushed into Javert’s fist, gasping for breath when Javert dragged it out. His balls felt tight, aching with the same relentless need, although Javert was right. His body has nothing left to give, even when he at last found a fourth, weak release in the tight clench of Javert’s fist, his sore cock jerking with a dry orgasm that wrung an exhausted sob from Rivette’s throat.

“Easy,” Javert murmured, settling down by his side again. He ran his hand thoughtfully over Rivette’s stomach, up to his heaving chest.

“Hurts,” Rivette forced out through clenched teeth, so exhausted that he wanted to cry—and still his cock continued to ache fiercely, still hard, as if nothing he did would ever be able to bring an end to it.

“Almost over now. I promise.”

Panting, Rivette tried to bite back tears as his exhausted body shuddered beneath Javert’s caress. Javert touched him with something almost approaching gentleness—with great care, as if he truly cared more about Rivette’s wellbeing than the mess Rivette had gotten them into.

How often had he woken from a dream of moments just like his: Javert beside him, Javert touching him with gentleness.

“Well done,” the Javert in his dreams would whisper. “I know that I can always count on you to have my back. What would I do without you, Rivette?” and he’d preen while flushing with embarrassment. And then Javert would lean in, and he’d wake in a sweaty, tangled mess beneath sticky sheets.

Instead, Javert looked down at him with fond amusement, as if, perhaps, he hadn’t expected any better from Rivette—but also as if this wasn’t the end of the world. As if this wasn’t the life- and career-ending humiliation Rivette feared it was.

Gasping for breath, his eyes burning, Rivette looked up at Javert. His reassuring touches soothed the ache of Rivette’s overstimulated body somewhat, so that he nearly dared to breathe a sigh of relief. Surely it was over now?

But long minutes later, his cock was still hard, a bruised, violent purple as he looked down at it in dismay. The heat was rising within him once more, sapping his resolve until even the sweet dream of winning Javert’s approval was gone from his mind. All that was left was a blind, animalistic need.

“Again?” Javert said, stroking his prick slowly, as if to test it.

When Rivette bucked up into his touch with a pained sob, he drew back, and Rivette found himself crying out in pained frustration. His cock ached so badly he thought it was going to explode—and yet, what would give him release? He’d already come so often, his balls wrung dry, and each orgasm had only made it worse.

Javert laughed softly and shook his head. “I’d need some of that poison myself to satisfy you, hm? Come on. Here, like this—”

Javert nudged him until Rivette was on his side, resting behind Javert—and then Javert reached back and grabbed his aching prick, helping it to slide between his thighs.

Instinctively, Rivette’s hips thrust forward. His length was still slick from his earlier release, and Javert’s thighs shone with a thin layer of sweat. Rivette slid in easily between them, and Javert flexed his thighs so that Rivette sobbed gratefully at the friction.

Javert’s skin was smooth and hot. Rivette’s hips kept thrusting forward mindlessly, sliding between the tight clasp of Javert’s thighs again and again, feeling the hard muscles clench around him. His hands still chained, he couldn’t touch—but he could lean forward, pressing his mouth to Javert’s shoulder, muffling his moans against salty skin as he buried himself between his superior’s thighs, again and again and again. It was with the taste of Javert’s salt on his tongue and Javert’s scent filling his nose that he came an agonizing final time, his cock jerking tiredly, this second, painfully dry orgasm leaving him trembling and utterly drained, nearly too exhausted to breathe.

He couldn’t even lift his arms when Javert at last turned around and unchained his hands. It was Javert who gently lifted them, his thumbs smoothing along the reddened skin where the shackles had chafed.

“I think that’ll do the trick,” Javert murmured, then drew up the blanket over Rivette. “Try to sleep. I’ll keep watch. I’ll wake you once they get tired of keeping an eye on the roofs.”

Rivette blinked tiredly. Javert was right—the agonizing fire within him had finally been doused. His prick still ached furiously—but this time, from simple soreness. His cock had softened at last, resting curled against his thigh, his emptied balls aching dully. His hole ached too, he realized at last, now that the burning need had receded. He felt sore, deep within, his thighs sticky with Javert’s release. The sensation made him flush, remembering his terror at the thought of how Javert would feel about this when this was all over.

He reached out to daringly rest his hand on Javert’s arm.

“Sir. I’m really sorry,” he began, his chest tight with horror as he imagined how Javert had to think of him now.

“Rivette,” Javert said, his brows drawing together as he peered down at him. “That wasn’t you. Just forget about it.”

“What if... what if a part of it was me?”

Rivette couldn’t believe he’d spoken the words.

For years, he’d been content to watch his chief from afar, to admire the way Javert ran the Prefecture with a strict hand, how he’d introduced efficiency and regulations that had quickly transformed the offices in the Rue de Jérusalem. Rivette had thought that he’d be content with what he had—who was he to dare to ask for more? It was enough to please Javert with his work, and even that was often something he struggled with, given Javert’s high standards for himself as well as for all others.

It was a secret Rivette had thought he’d take to his grave with him.

Javert was still watching him thoughtfully. Then, at last, he huffed another laugh and shook his head. “Do you think I don’t know that?” His lips twisted into another amused smile. “Do you think I’d have done this for anyone? For Masson?”

Wordlessly, still too tired to dare to make sense of his chief’s words, Rivette shook his head.

Javert reached out, cupping Rivette’s face. Then, thoughtfully, he traced along his mustache. “Get some sleep. And when we get out of here, I hope you’re prepared to invite me to share a bottle of wine or two. And Rivette?”

“Yes, sir?” Rivette held his breath when Javert’s thumb trailed gently over his bottom lip.

“For God’s sake, stop apologizing.”


End file.
